


Why Me?

by Gluub



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF John, BBC Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Death, Depression, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, M/M, Midnight Fic, References to Drugs, Smut, Substance Abuse, Top John Watson, Warnings May Change, fluff idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gluub/pseuds/Gluub
Summary: Sherlock doesn't understand...For the first time really, he didn't understand something so simple. John, he didn't realize how important he truly was to him. Always pushing those feelings aside about how much he truly cared for him. Obviously, he cared enough to have him live in the damn flat. But, now he feels something he's never felt, at least in a long time. Guilt and something else he couldn't really put together that really bugged him...





	1. The Itching Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. So I half-assed the beginning, I know I can make it better, I SWEAR. But I did this late at night and will edit it soon. So...Please enjoy what is written so far!

Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes didn't have feelings or friends. Companions. No, it was all just useless stuff. Unwanted stuff that cluttered what he needed to keep his focus on. That was probably another reason why he is excellent at what he does.

He didn't let those type of things get in his way, didn't let it fog up his eyes. Whenever someone brought up having a Mrs or Mr Holmes in the picture (usually always Ms.Hudson was the person that even bothered asking.) He’d respond with, “That would just get in the way of work, pointless mess that would ruin my time in these cases.” But, usually, when there was barely any noise in the flat and he needed to think deeper into the case, he’d resort to his list. Even when he was bored he went to doing his list, even if it was just one or two things he needed to write down. He would still scribble them down on a scrap piece of paper he had lying around.

He’d find himself waking up with his face on the table and arm still extended out across, limp with his veins still bulging out faint blue. Maybe even wake up with rings under his eyes and spread out on the floor, the room going in and out of focus.

That was back then, merely a year and twenty-two days ago to be exact. Even now he’d do it on occasion, only when he knew John would be out for awhile doing whatever the hell John needed to do outside of a case. Nothing Important, maybe going out to the pub, Sherlock could care less what John did outside their cases.

If he admitted it, he did genuinely care for John. The corners of his mouth lifting up slightly and falling every time John would bring up something small that had happened to him on the way back to the flat. Even if he didn't care, he liked hearing him ramble on about small things that Sherlock didn't even bother dealing with.

The one time, maybe the only time. He did a drug when he knew John would be home in less than thirty minutes. He was on the floor staring up at the ceiling, the table once full of papers and files were all scattered around him on the floor. Newspaper articles cut up and bunched up in his hand, hearing the door click, echoing in his head.

“John...The case, the case is solved.” He managed to mumble out, John rushing over to him and helping him to sit up. Not quite remembering the words John was shouting at him hurriedly, only remembering the hurt look in John’s eyes. The way he felt the muscles of John’s hands tense up when he grabbed him. His breathing quickening ever so slightly, he was terrified, for him.  
Sherlock was never able to shrug off that pang of...Guilt. What he had done to John, he didn’t think John would care that much. Maybe walk around him or yell at him to get off the floor.

John really cared about him, genuinely cared for Sherlock. For him. Since it had happened, John sitting in his usual armchair and Sherlock laid out on the long couch. John, he seemed to act like it was any other day. Like what happened a year ago was something Sherlock had dreamt up himself. 

He could still feel the guilt, he had his eyes closed in deep thought, but it crawled up his spine and started to nag at the back of his head again, it was awful. He couldn’t deal with his head being cluttered with useless stuff like this, it was a whole year ago. It was done, he did drugs and got caught by John. John was worried, that was it. 

But the way he had looked at him...Like he was afraid that he’d lose Sherlock too, after what had happened. No, he sat up quickly and caused John to jolt a bit, “Jesus, a bit of a warning would be great Dracula.” John huffed out with a slight smile on his face. Sherlock shook his head, “You should be used to it by now after the years you’ve lived with me here.” He muttered back quickly and walked off to the kitchen.

He didn’t want to think about it any more than he had, trying to make himself busy, “Is there anything else? Did Lestrade call at all today? Check your phone. Nevermind, I’ll do it myself while you’re busy with her.” He grumbled and glanced over at the baby that was drooling on John’s lap. He scrunched his nose up slightly and checked his phone. Nothing.

“Sherlock, it has only been a day, wouldn’t...It is nice to have at least a break for a few hours? At least for today?” He rolled his eyes at Sherlock, wanting him to settle down. He knew that he got anxious when he didn’t have something to do. They did have something big on their hands now but they’ve been running into a few dead ends and simply just needed a break for now. After all, he did get to spend some extra time with his baby. 

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and John knew what was coming next, “ A few hours? John, we have...All stuff going on and you just want to sit around?” He huffed back and started going through bits of paper from months ago. 

“Yes, that is what I want to do, I want to sit around and spend some time with my child. You forget that I am a parent, I have to care of her. What am I supposed to do? Leave her off with Ms Hudson while we work on a cas- Don’t answer that. You know I can’t just leave her.” 

“Well that doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea and I am sure that Ms Hudson would love to spend some time with her anyways.” He grinned and he could practically feel the signature look he was getting from John, even though their backs were toward each other. He felt a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders as he forgot about it all.


	2. Rosamund

Rosamund had John’s expression, her eyebrows knitting together when she didn’t get a bottle or it was taken from her. She had her mother’s smile, she never really stopped smiling and it hurt John. Reminding him so much of Mary and how she’ll never get to see her grow. He knows that, seeing her take her first steps will be hard without Mary with him. 

The hardest, the worst things that he knows will be coming soon now that she is already beginning to babble. Will be her first words, her first day at school, her birthday...All of it, just knowing that Mary won’t be there to see any of it. How could he let such a stupid thing happen? He could’ve done so much to try and prevent it. Almost every night after that, he’d get a nightmare. 

Seeing Mary’s face before she had died, it replayed over and over in his head once he had woken up. He had to fight back tears, taking in deep shaky breaths only to hear Rosamund crying softly. He knew he had to suck it up, he had a baby to take care of now. What was the use of thinking too much of the past? 

Sherlock could see Mary in Rosamund too, all the guilt would flood him again. Even though John had said it wasn’t his fault, he could feel the guilt weighing on him again and it’d make him think back to the time he had hurt John. How he did when Mary died and when he passed out on the ground. 

He never tried to show it, especially not around John. John was the one who was heartbroken over it, it was his wife, a person that he loved, the mother of Rosamund. Sherlock stood there in the middle of the kitchen with the papers still in his hands as he stared over at John and Rosamund on the couch.

He stared at them, seeing Rosamund falling asleep in John’s arms comfortably, it was his fault that she wasn’t going to have a mother. John looked back at Sherlock with raised eyebrows, “Well? Aren’t you?” Sherlock snapped out of it and blinked a few times before responding. Unsure of what he had said, “What? No...No time for breaks.” He said finally. Looking away from him quickly and back down at all the papers. 

Heading toward the desk, he could feel John’s eyes following him. Watching his every movement as he tossed the papers down on top of the other pile, Sherlock stopped and stared out the window with a heavy sigh, “What? What is it?” He asked and turned around on his heels as he stared back at John.

“Nothing, you just seem off today.” He sighed and slowly began to stand up, careful not to wake up Rosamund. He bit his lip as the chair creaked and made Rosamund shift, “But then again...You’re always a little off.” He mumbled and shot a smile at Sherlock before grabbing his coat. 

“Wait, where are you going? We have a case to work on.” He said and stayed where he was, frowning at John. 

“Well, I’m going home. Putting Rosamund to bed and...Taking a break for the day.” He said quietly and tried to slip on his coat, “Just like you should be.” He said before grabbing the rest of his things and heading out. Leaving Sherlock standing there in the room.   
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard the door click shut and sat in the chair while grumbling to himself, reading over the papers, he read them a million times before. But, he always had to check, like something was automatically going to change on him. 

All morning he sat there, pins and needles making his legs itch since he hadn’t moved yet. Mrs Hudson came knocking on the door. Not here a big commotion like usual, they always did seem to fuss around a lot like children. 

Sherlock groaned quietly and rubbed his face with a hand and sat like that a minute, listening to see if she was going to walk away, “Sherlock I know you haven’t left.” She said as she knocked on the door again, he got up and unlocked the door for her. 

Right away she walked in and looked around, “Oh, Sherlock...All these...These papers and clippings left on the floor.” She said as he started to pick some off the coffee table and stack them up, “Good afternoon to you too Mrs Hudson.” He said sarcastically as he walked back to the desk and plopped down. 

“I was just checking in, you seemed awfully quiet for a while and I was just making sure that I didn’t need to-” She picked up a paper that had wet coffee rings on it and grimaced as she tossed it in the trash, “Need to call John.” She said and quickly wiped her hands off on her dress and sat down. 

“John has to take care of Rosamund anyways, really no point in calling him, Mrs.Hudson.” He glanced back at her and wrote down a few more things on sticky notes. “Oh, yes...Rosamund, she’s such a sweet little girl isn’t she?” She said happily and crossed her legs with a smile, “Looks so much like John and Mary, what a precious baby.”

Sherlock stiffened up and he licked over his lips with a nod, “I guess so, considering she is there child.” He said and stopped writing a minute. “Yes, yes of course.” She laughed and went deep in thought for a minute before looking over at Sherlock again, he sighed. He didn’t hate Mrs Hudson, she just...Seemed to pop in at the wrong time. 

She couldn’t really help it, she didn’t have very many people she could talk to around here. He turned around to face her, “Mrs. Hudson, I really am quite busy at the moment.” He said finally and that got her attention, “Oh, right...I’ll leave you to it then, tell John and Rosamund I said hello.” She said as she walked out and Sherlock hummed in response. 

He couldn’t seem to focus on any of it, looking out the window and already saw that it was growing dark. He decided that he should sleep, John would come in and bug him about his day and that would help him. He stared at the ceiling as he laid on the couch.

Rosamund, a baby that was now a part of his life like she was to John, he was responsible for her as well. He felt that he needed to be, if something ever happened to John...He knew almost right away that he wanted to be the one to take care of her. No matter how much it hurt to see the two people he cared about in Rosamund, he wanted it to be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll get better, I swear...


	3. Morning

John walked into his house quietly, dreading every step since Rosamund was asleep the whole way home. That was usually a rare thing for him, shuffling around slowly as he felt the slow rumble of the wood under his feet and held his breath. Eventually able to lay Rosamund down in her crib and stared down at her for a moment, Mary popping up into his head again. "She is beautiful when she is sleeping, isn't she? I loved watching her over the crib with you." He heard her mutter in the back of his head and he fought the lump in his throat, his hands tightening on the crib slightly and he cleared his throat as he looked straight ahead at the wall.

Trying so hard to push Mary to the back of his mind, for now, rubbing the ring on his finger as he walked off to his bed. It was hard, to stop thinking about the one you love. The one you cared so much for, that you imagined the rest of your life with suddenly die right in front of you. Right in your arms with a sad smile, leaving you broken. His whole body tensed up and he could feel the tears coming, he promised himself, ever since she had died that he would be strong for her, for Rosamund. He blinked roughly and cursed under his breath as the tears ran down his face and his body began to shake, the anger bubbling up, the sadness, her face. It was all rushing back like it had happened yesterday, the memories fresh in his mind. He sat at the edge of his bed and wiped off his eyes harshly with the palms of his hands.

Gritting his teeth, "You need to let go, gradually, just let the pain go. You weren't the cause of what happened to Mary on that night." His therapist said from one of his sessions he had, he put his head in his hands and sat there in the dark. He felt his heart twist and ache, picturing Mary next to him. An arm wrapped around him and staring at him, comforting him silently. He would never imagine something like this happening to him. Slowly he recovered, trying to straighten himself out and push the feelings away even deeper into his heart and lock them there as long as he could until this happened all over again. It had become a normal thing to him, letting it all out in short bursts, it drained him. He was already feeling exhausted once he had laid in bed, staring at the ceiling before he eventually fell asleep.

Waking up to the usual cry of his new alarm, telling him that was morning and time to eat. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, hearing the wails on the baby monitor and got up in his boxers. Standing in the middle of his room in a daze, staring at the door and let out a heavy sigh before he walked out to Rosamund. The crying getting louder once he saw her in the crib, "Shh, shh...It's alright, I'm here now. Daddy's here." He mumbled and picked her up with a small smile, "You always wake me up early, don't you?" He asked her with a slight laugh as she cried in his arms and clung to him.

He walked off into the kitchen and fumbled around looking for a bottle, "I always put them in the left cupboard, remember?" Mary seemed to mumble in his ear and he glanced over at the cupboard, grabbing out a bottle and filled it up with warm water for her, Rosamund calmed down after awhile. Small sniffles coming from her as she squirmed around and rubbed at her eyes sleepily. He bounced her in his arm and hummed. His arm tightened around her protectively as he jumped a bit at the sharp beep of his phone, looking over at the counter and saw that Sherlock was messaging him. 

John furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if Sherlock found something or he was bored and needed to bug him, the image of what happened to Mary crept up in his mind, what if he needed help? John turned his attention away quickly from the bottle, the food he was preparing for Rosamund. Knocking it over as he reached for his phone in a slight panic, the warm water spread on the counter and got on his boxers. Seeing the text that he had gotten, 'When are you going to stop by? Lestrade wants to 'check up' but I think he just wants you for an actual conversation since he bores me. Hurry.' 

John didn't realize how tense he was until he finally relaxed and saw the mess he had made, spilled clumps of formula mixing with the water on the counter and dripping on the floor, his boxers getting soaked on the side from being pressed up against the counter and Rosamund began to cry again. He sat Rosamund in her chair and put his phone on the table as he rushed to clean everything up and made her a new bottle, he knew it was getting out of control again. But he refused to see another therapist, refused to talk to the one he used to have anyways.

He didn't want to risk opening up to another person like that again, even if they really had to pry it out of him instead of him just spilling it out. It would take a lot for him to just tell anybody, even he didn't want to acknowledge all the emotional pain he felt. He took a deep breath and shook the bottle, picking her up again and fed her. Staring off at his phone and sighed, "Guess we're going to see Lestrade today." He mumbled to himself and closed his eyes as he listened to Rosamund's heartbeat. Just needing to know that he still had a piece of Mary still with him. The gentle beat and the small hums from Rosamund as she drank helped him to relax a bit more, he smiled to himself and kissed her forehead. "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been absent 'cause my laptop has been being a little SHiT hEAD LATELY IM SO SORRRRY.


	4. Broken

Sherlock took a deep breath, his legs crossed as he sat across from Lestrade with his eyebrows furrowed irritatedly. Looking over Lestrade's posture, he was too relaxed, a little awkward but relaxed nonetheless. It made him grow a bit more irritated since it was John’s chair he was sitting in, he wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it. That would be too irrational, “You don’t really want to talk to John, so just get it out now before he comes over.” He grumbled, just wanting him out of that seat.

Lestrade rose his eyebrows, Sherlock had just sat there quietly staring at him since he came in. A bit startled when he finally spoke up, “Oh, well...I just wanted to check up on both of you, after everything that happened.” Sherlock stiffened, every muscle in his body tensed up at once and his eyes narrowed, “You’re just repeating yourself.” He said back quickly and got up off of his chair and Lestrade’s eyes followed him, “Are you alright, Sherlock?” he asked curiously, “I’m sure the therapy John has been going through is helping him, but what about you?” he questioned and Sherlock glanced back at him.

“I’m fine, considering everything that has been happening.” He said as he tried to distract himself from Lestrade and looked through his papers like he was busy. Hoping Lestrade would get the message and just leave. 

“Really? All of it isn’t getting to you? Well...You are Sherlock, you must know ways of being able to deal with it.” He half laughed and looked down into his lap as he fiddled with his watch, “Have you talked to John at all? About it?” He said as he looked back over at Sherlock. Sherlock was on edge, he was sure Lestrade could see it too, “We’re both adults, John has been coping with Mary’s death and so have I. We’ve...Been on different paths for a while now, yes? I’m not going to treat him like a child.” He snapped back as he looked over at Lestrade, “I don’t quite appreciate you referring to her death as it.” He said and heard a knock at the door, not taking his eyes away from Lestrade as the door opened and he heard the cooing from Rosamund.

John could feel the tension and Lestrade looked over at him hopefully to say something, John cleared his throat and earned a glance from Sherlock. Waiting for a response from him, he knit his eyebrows together. “Well, hello to you too. You called me, early in the morning to just stand around with you and Greg?” He scoffed and Lestrade moved out of the way as John went to sit in the chair.

Sherlock sighed and shook his head, relaxing a bit when he stared at John and Rosamund, “Like I said in the text, Lestrade wanted to check up on us.” He muttered and walked off to the kitchen, “Discuss whatever it is that you need to with John, I’ll be busy in here.” He sighed out, uninterested with whatever he wanted to talk about. Unless it was a case or some clues, he didn’t care. Taking some papers with him to sift through at the counter.

Lestrade watched Sherlock a second before moving closer to John so he wouldn’t hear, “Is...Sherlock alright? I know it isn’t my place to be bothering about this but…” He trailed off and glanced back up over at Sherlock, knowing Sherlock wasn’t quite acting like himself. But then again, Lestrade didn’t ever know when Sherlock was acting normal.

John held his breath for a second and clenched his jaw, “I...I am unsure, we don’t talk as much so I don’t bother him.” He felt that twist in his heart again, Mary’s face in the back of his mind and he looked away from Lestrade. “You’re right, it’s not your place to be bugging about this.” He shot back, he knew Greg was just trying to help, but right now wasn’t a good time to talk about it. It would probably never be a good time to talk about it, unable to even mention it or hear about it.

Greg nodded, “I’m sorry...I didn’t…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair with a nod, “Take care, John.” He mumbled and straightened up, “Well, I’ll should get going then. I’ll call if we got a case for you.” He said and Sherlock lifted his head up for a second, Lestrade stood in the middle of the room awkwardly before finally walking out of the flat.

For John, the silence was unbearable, tense, the atmosphere completely changed for him. Sherlock could feel it, looking at the back of John’s chair and frowned slightly. Quietly walking over and put a hand on his shoulder hesitantly, staring down at him silently.

John stayed staring out at the window, Sherlock’s hand stayed gently on his shoulder. He was deep in thought again and couldn’t help but imagine it to be Mary, her gentle touch and the comfort he felt around her. He missed it all, the tears in his eyes were beginning to well up and he held onto Rosamund a little tighter. Sherlock saw the expression, the same one he saw when Mary died, when he faked his death. It hurt him, to see John like this again, he quickly moved in and wrapped his arms around John, keeping his body away slightly so he would be in Rosamund’s way.

John began to shake a bit as he held it all in, once Sherlock had held onto him. He couldn’t help but arm an arm back around him, gripping at the back of shirt and pressed his forehead into Sherlock’s shoulder. He hated feeling this weak, like a child that needed to be comforted. He hated the lingering memories of Mary’s death, the tears started to come out. Taking in deep breaths and grunted as he pulled Sherlock closer. Sherlock closed his eyes, keeping his arms around John tightly, the way he was standing was uncomfortable but he knew John needed it. 

It hurt Sherlock more to see John like this, he wasn’t good at comforting. He knew that, saying stuff would just make it worse. But this was the best he could do for him, for now. John wasn’t fragile, not in the slightest. But he could tell he was beaten up about it, drained and barely making an effort to visit Sherlock. It hurt him, feeling like John was beginning to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I am beat.


End file.
